Return of the Triple Killer
by Shutterbug5269
Summary: My entry into the 2013/2014 Winter Hiatus ficathon. What if Jerry Tyson isn't really 3XK? Will eventually pick up where 6x09 left off. *follows cprompt #1 but elements from prompt #3 may appear. Cover art by Dtrekker
1. Prologue

_**This story of following 2013/14 Winter ficathon Prompt #1 though elements of prompt #3 may also appear.**_

**Prologue**

December 1st 2017, 3:00 AM

She awoke with a start. The bed beside her was cold, the room still dark save for the soft glow of the street light filtering in through the window as it reflected off of the steadily falling snow. Kate hadn't felt Rick get up, but obviously he had been up for some time.

It had been five years since that night on the bridge. Since Castle had emptied her service weapon into Tyson's chest, sending him over the side into the river. Even after all Jerry Tyson had tried to do to them, to him, and to so many others. Even after trying to frame him for murder and turn the world against him, she knew he still suffered from nightmares. He had never killed anyone before and even now it still bothered him.

What happened over the next few months, Meredith's visit, Alexis Kidnapping, the bomb, Eric Vaughn, Agent Stack's job offer. The interview she'd hidden from him and lied about, his proposal, her abbreviated move to DC, his near death from the virus, her return to New York after she lost her security clearance, his shooting and her subsequent return to the NYPD. They seemed like a surreal dream to her now. What came after that though. What they'd learned about the true nature of the triple killer, about 3XK's true return even had her up nights roaming the loft at times.

She looked over at the bedside nightstand and the strangely quiet baby monitor, noting that he had turned the volume all the way down. He did that when he sought solace from his nightmares by looking in on their children and didn't want to wake her. Especially when she came home from a difficult case and needed her sleep. They were going out with Alexis and Max to pick out a Christmas tree in the morning and he didn't want her to miss it.

_That man _ she thought to herself, _ that silly, thoughtful,selfless man._

She turned up the baby monitor to listen to Rick with their babies, Johanna and Jackson, to hear him whisper stories into their tiny ears or sing them a lullaby and what she heard him only half consciously singing stopped her in her tracks.

"_We'll meet again  
Don't know where  
Don't know when  
But I know we'll meet again  
Some sunny day  
Keep smiling through  
Just like you always do  
'Till the blue skies  
Drive the dark clouds far away"_

After everything they had been through over the past five years, everything that they endured together. The fact that they were now safe and happy and their family was secure. That song still hit her the same way, and to hear Rick singing it as a lullaby to their children, so soon after waking from a nightmare...she knew it must have come to effect him just as deeply. She was horrified...

* * *

July 21st 1990

Kelly Chambers lay on a hospital bed in the very teaching hospital where she was a medical student feeling not only violated and ashamed, but humiliated as well.

Violated by a man she thought she could trust...a fellow med student. They had been lab partners for years, gone out a few times and she knew he had wanted her. She thought she wanted him too, but she wasn't ready. She told him she wanted to wait. Only Jeremy didn't want to wait.

She wasn't sure what was going on when he showed up at her apartment with flowers and a bottle of wine. She never realized how arrogant he was, or how full of himself...how self entitled...or how violent. Until the green and white rope was around her neck, cutting off her oxygen supply. He waited until she regained consciousness to rape her. Made sure she was awake for every minute when he cut open her sleep shorts and tore away her underwear. That she could feel it when he penetrated her.

She was sure the dry language of the report would read that she had been both vaginally raped and sodomized repeatedly for two days...held captive in her own apartment. Chained naked to the radiator in the bathroom until he wanted her again. Forced to take a shower and then a long bath before he left.

When she reported the rape, Jeremy's rich family stepped in. Hired the best lawyer money could buy and it was made quite clear that he would tear her apart when she took the stand. The offer of money from his mother...enough to put her the rest of the way through medical school...seemed like a godsend. All she had to do was drop the charges. Jeremy would be transferred to another medical school in California...she would never have to see him again. She took the deal.

As is the case with most rape victims, she blamed herself for her own violation. Told herself over and over again that she had led him on...let him into her apartment in her skimpy sleepwear. Only to be told repeatedly by the rape counselor that it wasn't her fault. Only in her mind...it was her fault.

In her mind she had been weak, and timid. A shy, quiet, mousy little blonde. Jeremy had taken what he wanted from her, not to mention her virginity and her self respect. What little self worth she had left, she gave away when she took his family's blood money, and she vowed never to let that happen again.

She would never again be weak, or mousy or be victimized again. She set about eliminating all traces of the person she once was, and Kelly Neiman was born.

The first thing to go was the blonde hair, she had it professionally done...dark with red highlights. Cosmetic surgery to remove the ligature mark from around her neck and her left ankle where the manacle had cut into it. A personal trainer to change her body. As she began to remake herself.

Seeking perfection.


	2. Finding Her Passion

**Chapter Two**

**Finding Her Passion**

Kelly Neiman's first kill had been in 1992.

Her roommate during her residency was mildly paranoid, so she had done some digging, and had managed to find out about her past. Kelly had transferred from Chicago General, to a teaching hospital in New York City to escape her past. To distance herself from the person she had once been. The girl that she was ashamed of and wanted kept dead and buried. Miranda, a slender, fine boned blonde like she had once been, had been sympathetic, to be sure, but Kelly Chambers was dead and gone. Only Kelly Neiman remained and she wanted to keep it that way.

Miranda had to go.

The weapon she chose had been the first thing she could lay her hands on, the long hemp rope strap from Miranda's handmade shoulder bag. Kelly felt a surge of adrenaline as she pulled the rope taut around Miranda's neck. As she felt it dig into the supple flesh of her throat, cutting off her windpipe and the blood to her brain. She felt a wave of endorphins as Miranda struggled, kicked and jerked before going still as she deprived the young woman of life. When it was over, and Miranda's body was cooling on the floor, Kelly felt more powerful, more alive, than she ever had before. A power greater than Jeremy had taken from her. The power over life and death. She liked it...she reveled in it.

She felt sorry for Miranda, though. This weak mousy little thing she'd murdered...no...euthanized. Miranda would never be violated or brutalized, like her previous self had been. Miranda would never be tainted by the violation of rape. Never be touched by the unwanted attention of men. She brushed out her hair, fixed her makeup and prepared her for burial. She had done her a favor.

She later found what she liked even more than the power she had derived from taking Miranda's life, was the satisfaction and the thrill of getting away with it. She called the police herself and played the shocked roommate, traumatized by her roommate's brutal slaying when the uniforms arrived. Then again when the detectives questioned her. Not one of the cops who spoke to her ever so much as suspected her involvement. Never asking her for more than the usual, cursory questions about Miranda's social life.

The case had gone cold within days and no one ever so much as theorized that she had been killed by a woman. When the detective informed her that they had found no viable suspects for such a personal violent death, she went back to the hotel room the campus had provided and masturbated for hours. Killing Miranda had made her feel powerful, but doing so with near impunity with such absolute perfection that the police were forced to give up, leaving the case unsolved filled the empty void in her soul that her rapist had left behind. For the first time since her violation, she felt almost invulnerable...godlike...euphoric...powerful, and she liked it. She knew it was wrong, but she didn't care.

She wanted more.

Eventually one killing was not enough to satisfy her. A single kill didn't provide the thrill that that first one did, so she began to escalate, become more daring. She was nothing if not brutally efficient, though. She knew it took time to gather and process evidence, she had taken criminal justice forensics courses as a minor and interned at New York City's OCME after her first killing. She knew she could kill three back to back before the CSI's could catch up with the trace evidence from the first scene.

She liked the idea of strangulation...it was not quite so messy as other methods of killing and did not require a lot of strength. It also reduced the likelihood of her leaving DNA at the scene. The idea of using the same type of rope her rapist had used to immobilize her held a certain appeal. Like she was finally taking back her power from Jeremy Donovan.

Jeremy would eventually need to be dealt with, repaid in kind for what he had done to her, but she was not prepared to face him directly. He was still the boogie man...the dark shadow in her nightmares. Still shielded by his family's money. His death would be too easily tracked back to her. Even with her new name and new identity. He might not recognize her anymore but he would still see her coming. Her revenge upon him would have to wait...until she was ready. Until her transformation was complete and she no longer feared him.

In time she discovered that she liked indirectly squaring off against police detectives.

The more experienced, the more competent the better. Beating them, leaving so little evidence behind that the case would go unsolved made her feel powerful. She not only researched her victims, but whom the best homicide detectives were, who was likely to get the cases that fell outside the norm. The ones likely to challenge her...keep her sharp. She was easily bored, and it kept the game interesting.

She never repeated her pattern in the same city twice in a row, however. Never squared off against the same detectives more than once. She was not a fool. She knew her limits, when to walk away.

She had come close to being caught only once.

By late November of 1995, she had perfected her technique, settled into her comfortable pattern. She was in Palm Beach Florida on vacation and was thoroughly enjoying toying with the two detectives assigned to the case. Sergeants Lorenzo and Lance had actually sought her out as a possible witness to the murders she had been committing. It was the thrill that had been missing from the equation. The challenge she needed to keep her interested, because she knew that killing too many too often was the surest way to get caught and lose her power.

They were really good, better than any she had had squared off against previously, and she was sure that they had begun to suspect she knew more than she was telling. But, they simply could not prove she had done anything wrong. Through careful observation, she discovered they had one weakness, however. Anyone who was around them for more than five minutes saw it. The attraction they had for each other, the desire.

Detective Sergeant Rita Lee Lance was beginning to ask the right questions, however and this could not be allowed. She had arranged for Rita's former partner, now husband, and the father of her unborn child, Sgt. Chris Lorenzo to be murdered in front of her eyes by a young man she had been keeping an eye on named Jerry Tyson.

It was a test. Jerry passed, and she arranged things so that the murderer the two had been chasing took the fall. From then on she made a point to be more careful not to get tied to any crime scenes, or to have victims too easily tied to her. To have an exit strategy for when a detective got too close.

It had been a Palm Beach reporter who had first coined the name "The Triple Killer" and she liked it. Even more, she liked that the profile behind the name was still wrong. That authorities still assumed that 3XK was a man.

The profilers would learn to regret that glaring misconception.


	3. South of the Border

_**Auothor's note** I would very much like to thank Detective Angie (Dtrekker) for all of her timely assistance with this chapter. I needed to add some Latina flavor to this part of the story and her assistance was invaluable. __Muchas gracias querida mujer, you have now been immortalized on the page Angie...enjoy!  
_

* * *

**Chapter Three**

**South of the Border  
**

Mexico City 2004

Kelly Neiman hadn't had time to indulge in her murderous pastime in a while, as her plastic surgery practice had begun to take off. She had arranged for a killing or two for her young protege Jerry Tyson to keep him occupied. One of her business rivals, who had come on to her a but to strongly at a dinner party for her liking. He had reminded her far to much of Jeremy Donovan. So he had to go. She never wanted to feel that way again. To that end an "accident" had been arranged.

He walked into his home where Jerry had been waiting, was _accidentally_ strangled with piano wire, and _accidentally_ ended up at the bottom of the of a capped well, never to be seen again. As far as she knew, he was still listed with missing persons in New York.

Other than that she went on about her business without any trace that behind her placid, professional facade and business acumen lured the serial killer known as the "Triple Killer."

Now, however she was on vacation in Cabo with a week-long stopover in Mexico City and she was bored. The urge to kill was strong, but so few women in Mexico fit her victim profile. She was very particular. Native Mexican women simply would not do. Until she hit the tourist areas and discovered how many American women were here. Blonde American women.

She saw how many of the Mexican men looked at them and lusted after them and the urges took over.

She had to protect them, save them...the only way she knew how.

That and she was so very bored. She craved the excitement that only a killing spree would bring. Especially if there was an investigator down here that could challenge her.

* * *

six weeks later

Detective Angela Esperanza Maria de la Vega of the Policía Judicial Federal de México stormed into her apartment with a bottle of Tequila in her hand and a burning rage in her eye. She poured herself a shot and slammed it down, followed by another, then a third, before she heaved the glass, shattering it against the wall.

"¡Todos ellos son una bola de estúpidos, arrogantes y pendejos!" _(Stupid, arrogant assholes, all of them)_ She shouted into her empty apartment, her superiors having undermined her yet again. She should have known...they didn't want justice or even answers, they just wanted the whole thing to go away.

"¡Toda esa bola de jefes estúpidos, arrogantes, ignorantes y pendejos! ¿Acaso tienen caca en la cabeza?" _(Those__ stupid, arrogant, ignorant asshole bosses! Have they gone soft in the head)_

She brought the bottle to her lips and took a long pull on the bottle, letting the cheap tequila burn all the way down her throat. Wiping her lips on the sleeve of her light jacket, not caring that her red lipstick smudged off with the alcohol on her lips. She was usually quite fastidious about her appearance, but tonight she simply didn't care.

Her Commandante had knocked on her door with her badge and gun in his hand nearly two weeks ago. She had been suspended for "insubordination" when she had tried to arrest one of the local politicians who had made a habit of abusing young women. She had caught him red handed in the act, but his rich family complained and the Commandante had placed her on report.

That same politician had asked for her by name to take over the investigation of a homicide of an American gringa in the tourist quarter. The implications of dead American tourists going un-investigated was not lost upon the Mexican government, especially with The United States right across the border.

The young victim had been found in her hotel room at the Hilton, strangled to death, lying in her bed as if posed for burial. This case had her name written all over it. As she later found out, none of the detectives of any note, who were currently in favor wanted the investigation. If it went south careers were on the line.

The investigation had begun to go south not long after she made it known that she believed the killer to be a woman, and possibly a gringa at that. They had liked the idea that an American was doing the killings, but she knew they were secretly laughing at her theories of the killer being a woman. They fit the profile of an American Serial killer known only as the triple killer, whose profile stated was a man.

The killings had stopped with the third victim in a week, and for a month there had been nothing, just as the profile said there would be. She diligently collected the evidence and sifted through it. Her small office in Mexico City adorned with photos of the crime scenes. The chalk board on her wall adorned with a timeline of the killings. Stacks of papers from the American NCIC database, including the profile of the triple killer, could be found cluttering every surface.

"_Detective Angie" _(as William Sorenson, the young FBI agent who had been sent from the New York field office to liase with her on the case, had taken to calling her) had her Latina blood up, and she was unwilling to let the case rest. Her superiors, however were content to let her spin her wheels.

The only time they had taken an active interest in her progress was when prodded by _"El Presidente"_ at the urging of the American government. Anytime that happened, they simply brought whichever functionary of the American consulate inquired to her office to shake hands with "one of their top detectives" who was "diligently in pursuit of justice" on the case. Other than that, they didn't seem to care.

When the killings stopped last week, all support for her investigation, which in truth hadn't been much to begin with, dried up. Agent Sorenson packed up and went home, and all of a sudden, nobody would answer her calls.

The killer had walked away clean, and she was no closer to catching him (or her as she was certain the killer was a woman) than she had been when she was first assigned to the case. The last straw had come when she had been told to pack it in. She was being reassigned to another district.

"¡ Ay Dios mío! _¡Por algo nadie quería este caso. (Oh my God! No wonder nobody wanted this case)_ Y ahora que estos pinches jefes maricones se hacen los pendejos y parece que ni me conocen, me doy cuenta que nunca debí haber tomado este maldito caso!" _(And now these fucking pussy bosses are looking the other way and pretending they don't even know me. I realize now I should have never taken this case! )_

¡Pero las familias necesitan saber qué pasó realmente y si a necios vamos, a ver quien gana!

_(But the families deserve to know what really happened and if this is all going to end in our heads butting, let's see who is more stubborn!)_

At this point, she knew that her chances were just about zero that she would be slapping the cuffs on a suspect anytime soon, or any time in her lifetime. Her superiors just didn't care. The killer had stopped. 3XK had moved on just like he/she had every other time. She was being shipped off to some nowhere backwater police job near the American border and they actually had the gall to call it a promotion.

But for Angela de la Vega this was far from over. Even if it meant her job was forfeit, her career in Mexican law enforcement was in ruins. She would live to see the triple killer brought to justice. The blood of those six American women demanded it.

Even if she had to do it through the barrel of a gun.

* * *

Kelly had found the experience in Mexico to both be a refreshing change, at least for a little while, but by the end she had simply been going through the motions. Once it had become clear that the Mexican Authorities were not really trying to catch her, merely seeking to look like they were, she began to lose interest.

Though the detective assigned to the case was dedicated and quite proficient, Detective de la Vega was being hobbled at every turn, which by kill number four had taken much of the fun out of it for Kelly. By the end she had finished the last two killings because she hated to leave a task partially completed. She had thought of passing the last two to Jerry, but in the end simply finished the last two and was out of town before the body of victim number six had gone cold.

It was too bad really. She would have loved to lock horns with the firey Latina investigator on an even playing field. It would have been an interesting challenge. Time to move on.

She had, however heard of a promising detective in New York. A real life, honest to goodness supercop, named Roy Montgomery.

Perhaps the next time she was in the big apple, she would have time to kill.


	4. Two Roads Divergent

**Chapter Four**

**Two Roads Divergent**

* * *

12th Precinct Captain's office  
June 2006

* * *

Roy Montgomery had only been captain of the 12th precinct for a little over a year when the murders began. Three of them in the span of a week. They were similar to a string of unsolved murders committed in Florida in 1995, attributed to an individual known only by the name some Palm Beach hack reporter had hung on him which stuck, The Triple Killer, which had later been shortened to 3XK.

As the murders had all taken place within the 12th's jurisdiction, and one of his detectives had caught the initial case, he had been placed in charge of the NYPD end of the task force to catch him. It was not his first serial murder case by any means, which was why he was on the Mayor's short list to run the task force, but it was the first he had ever seen that had been carried out with this level of complexity. The man put both Shawcross and Bundy to shame for his attention to detail.

All three victims had been blonde, in their mid to late twenties, had been strangled in their own apartments with the same type of rope and then been posed as if for burial, as if the killer had wanted them to be found. There was no sign of robbery or sexual assault, no trophies were taken and there was no forensic evidence of their attacker to speak of, not even the rope used to kill them. Only the trace fibers of the rope in the ligature marks gave them any idea about the nature of the murder weapon.

He would have liked to have had his young protege, Kate Beckett on this one. She had been among the most hard working officers in his precinct in her short time at the 12th, both as a patrol officer then later as a rookie detective. Shew displayed both an empathy with victims, a willingness to think "out of the box" and keen insight into the "freaky ones" that most NYPD detectives, including himself, lacked.

She was driven by a fire inside of her that he couldn't begin to understand the depths of. A fire that if not channeled properly would one day consume her. He knew where that fire in her soul had come from and that he had had a part to play in lighting it there. He had realized early on in the three years leading up to her getting her gold shield (and the year afterward, if he was being truly honest with himself) that she was a Greek tragedy waiting to happen. He had seen it that first day he had run into her in the records vault and recognized who she was.

He had only recently made Lieutenant and taken charge of the Homicide squad that week. He had been returning the files he had very carefully doctored to remove his name from the investigation of the Armen murder case when he had found her there. A young patrol officer in her crisp new uniform her first week on the job, sitting on the floor in the records room with the Johanna Beckett case file held gingerly in her hands. He remembered staring at her for several minutes, noting how pretty she would be if she took better care of herself. The intensity in her face and eyes as she poured over the file...eyes scanning every word like she was committing the file to memory, missing nothing. It wasn't until he saw the name pin on her uniform that it hit him who she was, and that she could _not _be here. She could not open this case, or involve herself in it, lest she share her mother's fate.

He had dressed her down almost immediately, making her put the file away. She looked like she would shatter apart at any second with the realization that she could lose her shield just for being down here without authorization. Not to mention meddling in one of Detective Raglan's cases. He was still on the job then and could have had her badge for this. When he called her in his office he had made it clear that her mother's case was closed. There was nothing to find, not to mention interfering in a case involving a family member was a violation of NYPD regs, but he could tell that she was not the type to take "No" for an answer. Lockwood had visited him that very night. He hadn't seen the man in years. Not since Bracken had moved from the D.A.'s office to the State Senate, his ambitions for political advancement unchecked. His desire to make sure his legacy was untouched by his scandalous past was also unabated. He had had Beckett's mother and her staff killed, not to mention the file clerk and had enough pull to make sure the four deaths were not connected. He should not have been surprised that he had eyes in his precinct watching him.

Montgomery had struck a deal for her life that night. He would keep her out of it, make sure she found nothing that would tie Bracken to Johanna Beckett's death and Bracken would leave her alone. He'd had leverage then, to some extent he still did. He had kept the original files he'd doctored for Bracken and himself, made sure the man knew it, and that he was willing to play ball. Bracken had been at a critical stage in his political career, gearing up to run for a United States Senate seat and he needed Montgomery where he was in the 12th to keep things quiet.

Laying out the breadcrumbs that would lead Kate nowhere on her mother's case for the last few years had been one of the most difficult, heartbreaking things he had ever done since he first put on his badge. Especially since she had come to trust him as a surrogate father. It killed him to watch her deflate and withdraw into her own head every time a lead went cold.

To see her lose a little more of herself every time her quest for answers got her hopes up, only to see those hopes dashed as her search was thwarted. Seeing her fight to keep from breaking down in tears to keep the agony in her heart from showing. Letting her drive herself to distraction, and nearly to the brink of emotional collapse because he had seen it in her eyes that ordering her to stop would have gotten him nowhere. All the while trusting every lead and piece of advice he fed her, because she trusted him.

It was the nature of the deal he had struck with now Senator Bracken. The price he had to pay and the cross he had to bear to keep her alive. To keep the solemn oath he had made to himself and to Johanna Beckett over her stone in Forest Lawn Cemetery three years before. He would not fail to protect Kate Beckett, like he had failed to protect her mother.

Because he had been involved since the very beginning, since before Johanna Beckett was stabbed to death in that alley. Before Pulgotti had been framed for the godawful thing that he, John and Gary had done back on that day in 1992 when his life had been forever altered. When the three of them had been forced to make a deal with the devil. A deal that, to this day, he considered to be his greatest, and original sin.

He had assured Bracken that the only way to get her to stop, short of killing her, was for her to run it out of her system herself. To that end he had let her beat her head against the wall of that case until the futility of it finally set in. Which it had only one year ago today.

The strain of her obsession had nearly broken her completely. When she had come back from her medical leave of absence, followed by her mandatory counseling, she had barely begun to claw her way back out of the rabbit hole. It was why he had had her transferred to Vice in the first place. To keep her sharp mind occupied and away from temptation, at least until he was sure she could function in homicide again..

This new case, these serial murders, which every day seemed to be more and more futile, would have likely have sent her toppling clean over into another one. As much as he would have welcomed her insight, and her fire on this case, he knew she needed to be doing what she was doing now. She needed to be fighting bad guys and scumbags she could actually see. Fighting battles she could actually win, even if the victories were small ones. Find a place for herself on the job outside of her mother's death so she could one day carve out some semblance of a normal life for herself.

It was too soon.

* * *

Kelly Neiman had heard good things about Captain Roy Montgomery, the man leading the task force assigned to catch 3XK and he had not failed to disappoint. He was sharp and caught things that other cops didn't. That a whole _task force _had been put together to try to catch her after she had dispatched the three women thrilled her to no end.

It was too bad the game with _"Detective Angie"_ in Mexico City two years ago had been so unsatisfying. She would have been a worthy opponent had her hands not been tied metaphorically behind her back by a system that would not let a woman with a quick mind like hers work effectively. It had left her craving more. She might one day have to grant the woman a rematch.

Montgomery had had the resources of an entire city at his disposal, with federal resources to boot. Including a profile from an FBI agent named Jordan Shaw. The sheer thrill of outwitting not only him, but all of them was a major boost to her ego. It was even better than sex, and Jerry was quite skilled in that department. It was a thrill to fuck his brains out every time she came back from a kill using the information he had obtained for her.

Speaking of Jerry, he had been seen and described by a witness when he had cased a victim for her. When this cycle was all over, he would need to disappear for a while. He would not like it, but Kelly had the perfect place in mind. Right under the very noses of the NYPD. She would volunteer her time in the prison infirmary to make sure his needs, and hers were seen to, but he had begun cultivating another "go to guy" named Carl down in Florida as well. He wasn't as pretty as Jerry, but he also had less of an ego. He would serve her well in the years to come. If Jerry became more trouble than he was worth, then she would deal with him when the time came.

The authorities would never know that they had had the infamous 3XK behind bars even less, that she would be able to walk in and out at will. That rush alone would be enough to not need to kill for a while.

But she first wanted to put a whole new spin. Next month when she came back for a conference, she would kill three more.

Just to prove she could.


End file.
